


The Sidewalks of New York

by undernightlight



Series: 2020 Writing Challenge [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: The Master Has Issues, The Master's name is Koschei, he's quite lonely, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: The Master finds himself stranded on Earth, stuck in New York, with nothing but his name, and even that sounds more hollow than ever. He feels powerless. He meets someone, some trivial human in a coffee shop, whose kindness is unexpected, but secretly not unwelcomed.
Relationships: The Master & Original Character
Series: 2020 Writing Challenge [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603210
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	The Sidewalks of New York

He was lucky his body temperature ran higher than humans, for surely he'd be frozen otherwise. He wasn't happy about this, being stuck on Earth, no TARDIS, no means to escape. He still couldn't remember much about how he even ended up on Earth, in New York of all places; the planet was a fair size, and yet he ends up stuck in a city full of people, crowded and miserable and grey. Surprisingly, he missed the Australian wilderness. At least there, he had peace. 

The glare he wore was enough for people to give him a decent birth down the pathment - sidewalk Americans say - so at least he wasn't often knocked into, and anyone that did had daggers stared through them. He could kill them, any of them, easy, but it would be messy, and energy consuming, and not worth his time.

He took refuge in a cafe, small and over priced, but inside was warm and relatively quiet - quiet for New York anyway. He sat alone, at the back, head down. There was little more he could do but fiddle with his fingers atop the table. He had no money, nowhere to go, not that he cared, he could survive on his own easily, he'd done it before. He sat in peace for only ten minutes before a waiter approached his table. 

"Look buddy, I know it's cold," he said, accent heavy, hand on hip, "But if you're not buying then you'll have to leave."

He was determined to stare the waiter down, maybe even say something harsh and cruel and cutting, but before he could even open his mouth, a voice cut it.

"Darren, it's fine," came the voice, another waiter, a young woman, and the man named Darren turned and looked. "He ordered, I'm just running behind."

"Well get to it then," retorted the man named Darren, before stalking off. 

He watched as the woman shuffled her way behind the counter; it was difficult to see from where he sat, the angle, the location, but he watched nonetheless, studying her. She worked in fluid movements, mouthing the words to the song quietly playing over the speakers. She was clearly struggling to balance the drink-making with the order-taking. The man named Darren had taken to the back and yet to come back out. How rude. 

It took a few minutes before she walked over to his table with a tray. She set down a cup of what he assumed was coffee - he'd never had it - and what he could also assumed was a brownie on a small, white plate. 

"I know you didn't order anything," she said, "but I can't imagine you wanted to go back out there. A latte alright? It's what I'm best at." Her smile seemed genuine, a confusing deduction. He stared her up and down, before she added, "Don't worry, it's on the house," and then turned and walked away. 

He followed her movements as she went back to the counter to address the growing line of customers. Her attention didn't fall back to him, and so he drew his away from her and instead looked down at his drink. On the saucer, was three sugar packets and a metal spoon, but he thought it best to try the drink first. It was nice, hot, and it burned his tongue a little, but the sensation wasn't unwelcome. He added one sachet of sugar and stirred. The coffee mug was warm in his hands.

He took his time with his drink, thinking all the while, about many things. He was still stuck on Earth, and though he could create plenty of chaos, he thought it best not to attract any unwanted attention for the time being - though really, how could attention ever be truly unwanted. Earth technology was foreign to him, but he doubted it'd be difficult to sort it out - he remember some things from his Harold Saxon days, though not as much as he'd like - and so doubted it'd be difficult to start building something here, physical or entrepreneurial or anything else he could want to do. Really, the possibilities were endless.

And then there was this woman, here and now. She seemed polite, genuine and kind, and that didn't seem right. People weren't kind to him, never had been, so why was she? Yes, she didn't know him, but that had never stopped people before. He seemed to attract it, the bastards, and he didn't mind it really, he was used to it, he thrived off it. That was why her unprovoked kindness was unsettling. 

The brownie was surprisingly nice. He used to like sweets and sugar much more when he was younger, but he'd since outgrown the need for cavities. The brownie wasn't too sweet or too bitter, and was surprisingly soft. He ate it slowly, small piece by small piece.

He finished what he was given and managed to sit for fifteen minutes undisturbed before the woman was back at the table. "Everything alright sir?" There wasn't much he could say, but he nodded. "Good. You need anything else? Even just water, you can at least stay in here if you've got something." He could survive outside easily, but staying warm was preferable, so he nodded again. The waiter smiled and walked away again, taking his empty coffee cup and dirty plate with her, and returning just a few moments later with a glass of water. "Let me know if you need anything else, alright?" 

Once again, he only nodded, and the woman walked away. What was she planning? What was her end game? There had to be a motive to her kindness, a reason for her to be reaching out, so he just watched her, drinking slowly. He would ask her, confront her. Ultimately, when the reasoning became clear, he could decide what to do then. 

Somehow, he managed to stay in the coffee shop much longer than he expected. It had began to rain outside, the kind that falls so light that before you know it you're drenched without realising. He was more grateful to be inside at that point, he wasn't overly fond of water unless he was drinking it. The weather had thinned the herd of humans, and the coffee shop was even quieter, and the streets were slightly emptier. And now the man named Darren worked the counter, with the few straggling people out and about. 

The woman had disappeared to the back, but a few minutes later returned, sans apron, and approached his table. "Hey," she said, offering a smile, "I hope this isn't weird, but do you mind if I join you?" 

He shrugged, not feeling much way about it. Of course, being left alone when like this is always ideal, but he needed to know more about her. She smiled awkwardly as she sat on the chair opposite. 

"Who are you?" He asked, the first he'd spoken for the hours he'd been in the coffee shop. 

"Just a concerned barista I guess."

"Concerned?" Hostility bled from his voice. 

"Urm, please don't take this the wrong way" - he doubted that would change his mind - "but I've seen eyes like yours all my life, and I know when people are in pain."

"I'm fine." For once, even he heard the lie in his own voice, despite the grit it carried. 

She folded her arms across her chest keeping her body tight. "I really don't mean anything bad by it, and I don't mean to offend you, I just...I couldn’t help but see the way you looked at Darren, or the way you looked at me.” Okay so maybe he wasn’t being as discreet as he thought he was, but that didn’t matter. “I saw you watching me, but only after I offered to get you a drink, and the way you looked at me, you were analysing, right? Wondering why I was being nice?”

Whoever this individual was, she was smart, and observant. He lacked the energy or motivation to do anything about it though, and she gave a gentle smile, kind, as she started to stand, the drag of the chair on the floor loud and uncomfortable to his ears.

“The coffee shop closes in about an hour, but you should be fine until then. I don’t know your situation, but if you need anywhere to go, to escape anything, the shop opens at nine. I’m working tomorrow, so if you come in, I’ll get you a drink.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, just seems like you need something a little extra right now.” Halfway through turning around to leave, she stopped, pivoting back round to him. “Do you mind me asking your name?”

At this moment, that felt more loaded than it ever had. The Master didn’t feel right here; he wasn’t ashamed, obviously, but The Master had power and control, he was unstoppable and insane and smart. Right now he didn’t feel like the Master. He’d used other names throughout time - Harold Saxon a prime example - but none of them worked either. They were always powerful people, manipulators, fiery beings, and being stranded on Earth left him far from there. Without much other thought, he said what felt right. He said the name that was most appropriate.

“Koschei.”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I'm not sure what this is. It's sort of more self indulgent than I was intending to make it, but with season 12's finale containing a lot of Master content, I've gone a little mad. I just love him, and that influenced the direction of this without me really knowing, oops.


End file.
